Kintsugi

I face an existential crisis;

Who am I?

Hours were spent

Thinking

Agonizing

Sometimes crying

Over this question

I have mostly overcome

That struggle

I recognize that

I am a work of art

In progress

Ever changing

An amalgam of many beautiful hues

Composing me

For now;

I am black

Like the infinite night sky

Letting the stars shine through

Like the ink filling up my head

Demanding to be let out

To flow down my fingers

In what I call my truth

I am blue

Like the bruises gracing my legs

Because I never seem to see

That familiar desk

Like the bruises marring my soul

Taking more time to heal

Still being discovered

Carefully, I tend to them

Slowly, I recover

Like the ocean

Soothing me, always

Waves after waves

Like the ocean

Waters in which I must be careful

Not to drown

I am purple

Like the fear

That sometimes hold my heart

With careless hands

That squeeze to hard

I suspend my thoughts

Try to cage them, if only for a moment

Those hands hold power I do not like

Like the amethyst

Adorning my neck

As protection against evil

For I might not always see it coming

I am red

Like the blood that flows through me

Like the blood that trickled down my body

When my armor failed me

When I could not protect myself

Be it from my own blood

Or that of others

Like the shame that filled my cheeks

Too many times it should not have

I am white

Like the scars blemishing my heart

My mind

My bones

A reminder of my past

The path that made me

Like winter

Painting a dangerously cold landscape

That always seems to last

A bit too long

With beautiful soft snow

Melting on face

And hard ice

Freezing my nerves

I cannot seem to feel anything

Like the moon I worship

When I dance under her light

To bring some warmth

Into those nights

I am green

Like the peaceful hill

I like to imagine in meditation

Like the forest

With its trees in a shambles

As it should be

As is mostly my mind

Like the poison that seeped into my head

Through years of unknowing apprenticeship

I now recognize those thoughts

For the lies that they are

Still, I have not extracted the last drop

Not yet

I am brown

Like the trampled earth holding us all

Like the leather armor

I patched repeatedly

That became sturdier each time

It is not perfect

Some seams

Seem to hurt me

More than they protect me

But I did not know better

And I do not know yet

How to change that

It is not perfect

But it got me where I am

It holds my past in every crevice

It is not perfect

But still, it protects me

And it is sturdy enough

For me to fight back

This is the armor

Of a warrior

I am gray

Like the metal the tip of my pen is made of

My words are ready

To cut through your lies

Like the angry storm arriving

Feel the wind

A foretaste of what is coming

Like my morals

Made through times

Sometimes shady

I am pink

Like the love I seek

Like the love I give

Like sweet flowers

Beautiful, fragile

And yet, they can still be deadly

Like sugary candy floss

How pleasant in your mouth

Until it gives you a stomachache

For abusing of it

Like my tongue

Speaking what it will

Sometimes soft, sometimes hard

Singing wishes

Whispering secrets

Screaming freedom

Loud, oh so loud

My voice will be heard

I am yellow

Like lemons

Sometimes as sour

But how sweet it is

In lemonade

Like a bee

Fiercely defending its hive

Like the sun

As bright as my laughter

Echoing between its rays

Often for trivial reasons

But by design still as bright

I am amber

Like the back of those cards

With which I always play

With my friends

Whom I might as well call my kin

Like the honey soothing my throat

After I howled too often

Soothing my soul

After it has been raw too long

Sweetening my coffee

When I am in need of a lift

How sweet it is

To just be me

Without any front

How hard it is too

All the broken pieces

Of myself

Mended with gold

Adorned with gold

All that I am on display

My flaws

My strengths

My whole being

Celebrated as I should be

Loudly and proudly

I am a work of art

A broken shape I do not always understand

Pieces of myself I still discover

Every other day

A canvas that may be damaged

But that is whole

This art piece is a mess

A mess of a human being

A beautiful one at that